


Medicine

by dontleaveportland



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Pierced Stiles, Punk Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles, Young Derek, Young Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontleaveportland/pseuds/dontleaveportland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Buffy,” Stiles said, throwing a wink toward the cutie in the stretched Oxford shirt, “Nice pocket protector, that where you keep your stakes?”</p><p>Except for scrunching his face into a look of confusion, Buffy offered no response. The Scooby Gang appeared to be struggling to hide their amusement.</p><p>Or that time Stiles-the-Menace met Young!Derek and his pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Somebody mixed my medicine, I don't know what I'm on. Somebody mixed my medicine. Now, baby, it's all gone. Somebody mixed my medicine. Somebody's in my head again._

Sixteen year old Stiles Stilinski turned the radio off and took a final drag of his cigarette before exiting his blue 1976 Jeep CJ5.

Today marked his first day at Beacons Hills High School (hereafter to be referred to as Hell). Stiles’s father had unfortunately chosen to take the new position as Sheriff for the town, forcing Stiles to give up the beauty that was dark Seattle, WA, for Sunnydale 2.0, CA (at least if the murder case load Stiles had seen on his father’s desk this morning was anything to go by).

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and then pulled the sleeves of his American Giant hoodie down to cover his tattoo sleeves.

It had been his only promise to his father this morning – well, covering his tattoos _and_ attending ALL of his classes. His father had gone on and on about painting an image that Stiles wasn’t a delinquent, something about it being bad for his father’s Sheriffly duties.

Stiles smiled broadly at the memory, pushing his tongue ring front and center. The man had been so nervous in his haste to request Stiles’s compliance, that he hadn’t even remembered the piercings.

Stiles approached the front stairwell of the school and observed a large leather-clad group anxiously watching his approach.

A young blonde stood between a dark-skinned – and _well_ muscled – man and a curly blond with adorable dimples. To the left, an attractive red head leaned against Mr. America – seriously, all that was missing was a cable-knit sweater loosely tied around the neck of his Ralph Lauren polo. To the right, a young asian woman with ridiculously perfect curled hair had her arm wrapped around a young man with scruffy hair and a crooked jaw.

The best was up front though – a beautiful young woman with long dark hair and a scrumptious clean shaven young man with muscled arms bulging out of his Oxford shirt watched Stiles approach. Stiles wondered briefly if the two were twins, their appearances so similar that they had to be related at the very least.

“Holy eyebrows,” Stiles whispered.

Four dark eyebrows rose in surprise and then turned down into deep scowls toward him. Definitely twins then.

Stiles flicked his cigarette butt toward the groups feet.

“Hey, Buffy,” Stiles said, throwing a wink toward the cutie in the stretched Oxford shirt, “Nice pocket protector, that where you keep your stakes?”

Except for scrunching his face into a look of confusion, Buffy offered no response. The Scooby Gang appeared to be struggling to hide their amusement.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders and began walking further into Hell.

“Sad, they can’t all be brains _and_ brawn,” Stiles said just before entering the building, “I’d forgive him if he had some scruff though.”

***

Seventeen year old Derek Hale watched as the doe-eyed punk walked into the high school. The kid looked like trouble. Trouble wrapped up into a freaking wet dream – were those pants actual pants or paint?

Derek is pretty sure he saw a tongue ring glint at him from within the kid’s perfect-pout mouth.

“Did he just call Derek ‘Buffy’?” Scott asked from behind him.

Laura snickered and punched his arm.

Derek looked down at his pocket protector. He wondered what was wrong with it – it was a dark Italian artisan leather. Uncle Peter had assured him that it was everything manly and rugged.

“Thinking about growing some scruff, little bro?” Laura asked.

Derek felt an uneasy knot build in his stomach. Something told him that that little punk had just changed his life forever.

“Aww!!!” Erica screeched, “He’s been struck silent. That kid was fucking delicious, Derek, you better pick him up before I do.”

“Wait until Alpha Talia finds out that Straight ‘A’s, Born-to-be-Nerdy, Perfect Attendance Derry is dating the town’s new menace,” Lydia said, “I hope we don’t have to kill this one, Derek.”

Laura almost fell to the ground laughing, only saving herself by leaning on Derek for support.

Derek raised his right hand to rub at his temples in annoyance.

He _so_ needed a new pack.


	2. Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh!" Stiles said, eyes widening, "I get it now."
> 
> "Get what?" Buffy asked, brow lifting into a confused arch.
> 
> "Why you're asking all these weird questions," Stiles said, nodding as he took a drag of the cigarette, "And why your little gang of attack dogs has been following me around since I got here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not really sure if this fic will continue to grow anytime soon, but a few comments had me thinking about different plot development points, and I just couldn't get this chapter out of my head.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and huge thanks for all of the support and kind words offered for the first chapter!

Stiles tapped his foot restlessly on the classroom's linoleum tile, waiting for the bell to announce the second lunch period.

He was two and a half days into Hell, and Stiles thought it was about time he tested how stringent the high school was regarding its absence policy.

"Focus," his new lab partner, Lydia something or other from the Scooby gang, said, firmly grabbing hold of his knee to stop the movement.

"I am," Stiles said, snorting as he shook his head.

He lifted his hand in front of Lydia's face.

"Three," Stiles said, counting down with his fingers from five, "Two, one."

Stiles offered a wide grin to his partner at the sound of the bell.

"Thanks for the help, Willow. Tell Tara hello for me," Stiles said, nodding his head toward Lydia's always present boyfriend crossing over to the pair, "Or is it Oz?"

Tara/Oz offered an almost animalistic growl as he got closer, and Stiles wondered not for the first time what the fuck was up with that group.

"Oz it is," Stiles said, nodding as he turned toward the classroom's entrance, "Later Scoobies."

"Wait, Stiles!" Lydia said, "We'll walk you to lunch–"

Stiles smiled as he melted into the mass of students moving down the hallway toward the cafeteria, Oz's question following him out of the classroom, "What the fuck is a scooby?"

***

Derek stared blankly back at Lydia's remorseful face and Jackson's typical hardened glare.

The two stood in front of the designated Hale lunch table. Derek briefly glanced around those seated around him, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Laura looking on with mixed levels of intrigue.

"What do you mean you lost him?" Derek asked, looking around the cafeteria.

The school wasn't _that_ large.

"Well..." Lydia said, rubbing a hand anxiously over her arm, "We were following him, but he kind of ran out of the classroom, and then–"

"He's gone," Jackson said, still glaring at Derek, "He's not in any of the hallways, or the gym, and he's obviously not here. Kid's a freak, we should just leave him alone before something bad happens."

"No, he's cute!" Erica yelled, raising a hand wildly into the air, "And Derek wants to do things to him. Dirty things. I'm not missing my chance to see that."

Derek took a moment to pinch his eyes closed and rest a hand against his temple.

"All right, enough," Derek said, opening his eyes again, "Did you check outside?"

"I told you we should have checked outside," Lydia said, smacking a hand upside the back of Jackson's head.

"Christ," Derek said, standing up, "You two sit down. I'm going to go find our new potential supernatural guest."

Not for the first time – even that day – Derek wondered why he was forced to call these people his pack as their table conversation followed him out of the lunch room.

"What do you think Derek would look like as a blond?" Laura asked.

"I've been wondering the same thing ever since Stiles referred to him as Buffy," Lydia said.

"Just picture Isaac's sun kissed locks on Derek's face," Erica said, already chuckling.

No one's laughter was more hearty than Boyd's. Fucking Boyd.

***

Stiles had made it out to the field bleachers before remembering that his car keys were actually in his locker. After turning around to go get them, he noticed that Lydia and her boyfriend were hovering around his locker, which he decided could mean nothing but trouble for him.

Since his father had explicitly pleaded that Stiles stay out of trouble with his classmates this year, Stiles turned around, headed back for the bleachers to wait it out, rather than causing the scene he initially wanted to. Like by threatening to use Oz's head to open the locker.

His father definitely would not have approved of that.

Stiles sighed as he pulled out a lighter, cigarette already planted between his lips.

"You shouldn't smoke," a male voice said from behind him.

Stiles whirled around only to find Buffy staring back unimpressed at him.

"Fuck," Stiles said, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth, "Almost made me drop it, it's not easy getting smokes in this fucking town, you know."

"Good," Buffy said, stepping menacingly forward and yanking the cigarette from his hand, "Lose the habit. It's a bad one."

Stiles smirked as he pulled another cigarette from his back pocket.

"You offering to fill my mouth with something else, Buffy?" Stiles asked, already moving to light the tip.

Buffy's faced contorted, shifting between what looked like a million different facial expressions. It finally landed on a pretty intense glare.

Stiles had to give the other teen credit for his brow game. If Stiles could glare doom like that, he'd never pay for another cigarette again.

"What's your business here?" Buffy asked, glare intensifying.

Stiles couldn't hold back the laugh from the seriousness of such a ridiculous question.

"Uh... I dunno, man," Stiles said, clutching his stomach, "The eleventh grade? Fuck, what the hell kind of question is that?"

Buffy's glare mixed with slight confusion before lessening.

"Why did you move here?" Buffy asked.

"'Cause my dad got a job here?" Stiles said, "Jesus, did he forget to ask for your approval or something? You take this Buffy schtick really serious – you know vampires don't exist, right?"

"Right," Buffy said cryptically.

"Oh!" Stiles said, eyes widening, "I get it now."

"Get what?" Buffy asked, brow lifting into a confused arch.

"Why you're asking all these weird questions," Stiles said, nodding as he took a drag of the cigarette, "And why your little gang of attack dogs has been following me around since I got here."

Buffy's face never settled out of confusion, so Stiles continued.

"You're dealing," Stiles said, nodding.

"What." Buffy asked/said.

"I get it," Stiles said, raising his hands into the air, "You saw my tats, the piercings, and you made some broad assumptions based on poorly formed stereotypes. I'm not looking to horn in on your business, but I'm also not looking to buy."

Buffy's mouth seemed to drop slightly, as if surprised.

"It's cool if drugs are your thing," Stiles said, pushing forward, "Actually, it's kind of not – you're kind of the scum of our society, you know that? But anyway, they're just not mine, so you've got no beef coming from me."

"You think I'm a drug dealer?" Buffy asked, voice filled with disbelief as he finally offered a response.

"You said you were," Stiles said, nodding.

"When?!" Buffy exclaimed.

"When you were asking me why the fuck I moved here, and you got all creepy antagonist with your cryptic 'Right...'," Stiles said, mimicking Buffy's dry voice and adding a villainous hunch to his shoulders.

"I don't sound like that," Buffy said, dropping both eyebrows into a deep scowl and offering a slight growl, "And I'm not a drug dealer."

"Right..." Stiles said, nodding and offering a wink, "Whatever you say man. It's all good."

Buffy released a huff of frustration before squaring his shoulders.

"Lunch is almost over," Buffy said, offering an assessing gaze, "It's time to get back to class."

"Work," Stiles uttered, followed by a fake clearing of the throat.

"Are you coming or not?" Buffy asked, back to glaring at him.

"Fuck that man," Stiles said, shaking his head, "I'm skipping. Half of those teachers don't even bother with role call, and Google does a better job of educating me than the ones that do."

"Stiles," Buffy growled out between gritted teeth, "Get back into that school."

"Did you seriously just order me to go back to class?" Stiles asked, near laughter.

"Your future isn't a joke," Buffy gritted out.

"Okay," Stiles said, now laughing, "What year was the copyright on the M.A.D.D. poster you stole that from?"

"Stiles," Buffy said, hands reaching out into the air toward him.

"Touch me, and I'll scream rape," Stiles said, pausing his laughter to offer his own glare to Buffy.

"Fine," Buffy said, jaw clenched again, "It's your life."

"Fucking right," Stiles said, nodding his head as he watched Buffy walk back to the school.

***

Stiles was happy to report that for the rest of the week following his run in with Buffy, the Scooby Gang kept a fairly polite distance. They were definitely still watching him, but they weren't approaching him unless it had to do with a class assignment.

Unfortunately, Stiles wasn't limited to only seeing classmates in school, and his heart went into overdrive that Saturday when his father waved to Buffy while stopped at a stop sign downtown.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, watching with horror as his father rolled the passenger window down – Stiles's window – in order to lean over and yell to Buffy walking on the sidewalk.

"That's our student captain for the local D.A.R.E. chapter," his father said, leaning across Stiles's lap to wave out the window, "Derek!"

 _Derek_ paused on the sidewalk and turned toward the patrol car, a vicious smirk forming on his face as he took in Stiles's horrified one.

"Sheriff," Derek said, stepping forward to lean down into the window, "So nice to run into you again. And Stiles."

"That's right," his father said, face and voice excited, "You two must know each other already. Small schools, right?"

"Super small," Derek said, grinning back at Stiles.

Fuck. Not only had Stiles accused Beacon P.D.'s pet of being a fucking drug dealer, the teen was very familiar with Stiles's smoking habit.

"Actually, Stiles," Derek said, leaning closer, "I was really hoping to run into you."

"You were?" Stiles asked, trying to keep the nervous tension out of his voice, though he was sure he was sweating buckets in front of his father, "What... What for?"

"Mhmm," Derek said nodding as his arms moved behind the passenger door, "Your father and I were just talking a few days ago about how to keep youth from smoking cigarettes, and I started thinking about how smart you are."

Stiles swallowed nervously. If his father knew that he was smoking again, Stiles could kiss his Jeep goodbye. Fuck, maybe even the Internet.

"We'll chat about it later though," Derek said, lifting an unwrapped sucker out from behind the passenger door and thrusting it into Stiles's mouth.

One of Derek's hands moved down to Stiles's back thigh, and he leaned forward close to Stiles's ear.

"Thanks for the smokes," Derek whispered, offering an annoyingly satisfied and ridiculously large grin as he pulled back.

"Sheriff," Derek said, nodding before stepping away from the vehicle.

"What a great idea," his father said, watching Derek retreat, "You'd be good at something like that, Stiles. Maybe some of your past experiences could benefit this town."

Stiles moved a hand down to check his back pocket, where he usually kept his pack of cigarettes.

They were gone.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.


End file.
